


Cult of Clyde Mardon

by ZadieWrites



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Clyde acting like a dad, Fluff with a little bit of angst, Gen, Multichapter, Sad Backstories, Underage Characters, Will Update Soon, for lovers of Clyde Mardon, gen - Freeform, hopefully, no smut obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 16:58:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17247992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZadieWrites/pseuds/ZadieWrites
Summary: When Clyde died, he didn't know that a criminology blog would make a post about him, going deep into the origins of his god complex. He also didn't know that a few lonely, outcasted teenagers would read that blog and take his statement, "I am God" completely literally. The cult currently has seventeen members, eight kids who created the cult, and nine people who found its discord server and now serve Dark Lord Clyde online.Sure, Clyde wanted to be God.But is he really up for this pressure?





	Cult of Clyde Mardon

**Author's Note:**

> I am fully aware that this is a weird concept but I came up with it and now I am thoroughly obsessed with this idea.

It was dark that evening. Very dark. The cemetery was directly under the full moon, lighting the fog around the group like a veil. In the area off to the side of the graveyard, away from the headstones and near the fence, eight cloaked figures bickered amongst themselves. 

“Can’t light a fucking candle in this mist.” hissed a voice. 

“I can’t see.” said another.

“Nobody can, Billy, that’s the point!” 

Their figures, created a circle, and in the middle of the circle flickered an orange light.

Then the orange light grew and became stable. One of the figures had succeeded in lighting a candle.

“At last!” cheered the young woman, who was holding the lighter in one hand and the tall, white candle in the other. 

The rest of the group used the flame of her candle to light the candles they were holding, until all eight of them were holding a glowing pillar of wax. 

“Start the chant, Ayla.” prompted Billy. 

Another girl cleared her throat in response and began to speak Latin: 

“Sed vade, quamcernis, domine? nec divinos!” she said in a raised voice. 

Her posse followed suit repeating, “Surge! Surge! Surge!” into the night. 

They clutched the candles in their hands, as they chanted ominously. 

“Return, God of Weather and smite those who do not believe you could!” 

“Could what?” a voice questioned. 

“What?” Aysla asked in mild irritation that her companion would interrupt their ritual.

“Smite those who do not believe he could what?” 

There was a pause and Aysla brushed her forearm dramatically over the front of her head, sweeping her black hood back, revealing her face. 

“Madison. We have been using the exact same chants for the resurrection ritual for the last three years!” Aysla informed her, folding her arms. 

Madison pulled back her hood as well, revealing a pale, pretty girl with auburn hair and blue eyes. 

“Well, it’s been a real fucking while since we’ve done a resurrection ritual!” Madison almost whined in defense. 

“Clydedammit, Madison! Now we’ll never complete the ritual! You know how Zane can’t get back in the zone after being interrupted!” Aysla cried out. 

“I was in the zone, I can’t get back in the zone, you took me out of the zone, man, you took me out of the zone!” Zane informed them from underneath his hood. 

Aysla put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know, Zane. I know.” 

“The resurrection rituals never work anyway . . . let’s face it. Our lord is never coming back to smite anyone.” Madison said, hopelessly. 

Then a clap of thunder sounded in the sky, echoing in every corner of the cemetery. 

“It’s a sign! From the Weather God!” Billy stated, grinning up at the sky, his braces glimmering in the moonlight. 

“Are you sure?” Madison questioned. 

Aysla gasped in shock. “Madison! What’s gotten into you? Are you siding with the skeptics now? Our enemies?” 

“No, of course not, I hate skeptics just as much as you do, I mean have a little faith.” 

“Right? It’s like faith doesn’t mean anything anymore . . .” 

“I miss when you could point at a woman and say ‘witch!’ and they’d believe you.” One of the twins, Harri, said, grimly. 

Then there was a pause among the teenagers. 

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you? People burned to death.” Aysla told Harri, with a shake of her head. 

“I’m just saying! They had faith they just did the wrong thing with it.” 

“Harri . . . just . . .” she trailed off, with a sigh. 

Harri was not a particularly bright person, in fact some would say they were stupid. They would be right. 

The group blew out their candles and packed up their cloaks. Another night had passed, and they had failed to resurrect their god. The twins, Harri and Cally, walked home together, as they obviously lived together, and Madison walked with them because she had to travel in that direction anyway. 

Aysla had the furthest walk, two and a half miles. Billy, Zane and Alice found their way home in Zane’s car, and Rucker found his own way home, down some train tracks and through a forest. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

At first everything was dark and Clyde began to question if he was still dead but somehow . . . conscious. Breathing. Because he did feel air rushing into his lungs and after a paralytic moment, he realized he could open his eyes. 

Something had happened. Clyde didn’t know what but he was alive. He stared up at the black, clouded sky. He was laying in the middle of some kind of field. He couldn’t tell if it was the field he’d died in or not. He didn’t see a barn though and he remembered a barn. He didn’t remember much about the day he’d died just flashes. He remembered a tornado and lightning . . . a plane crash . . . and pain. So much pain, sending his brain into oblivion. 

That led him to sit up and look down at his chest where the bullet would have been. It was gone. The bullethole had vanished, but the blood was still there, and there was a crumpled bullet laying on the ground. But he was fine, that was all that mattered. 

Clyde stood up, and tested his powers. Wind gathered at his fingertips, without so much as a delay. Good. That was real good. 

He charged up one hand with lightning, which coiled around his wrist and gathered as a ball of energy in his palm. Then he released it into the sky, his arm vibrating with the power. It felt really fucking good to be back.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to update as soon as I can, this is a special fic to me, and I'm hoping to amass at least twelve chapters.


End file.
